


Yesterday Was Tuesday

by sansybones, withtheworms



Series: Rehab Cabin DLC [6]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Post-Pacifist Route, rehab cabin DLC, skelebros, slight papyton if you squint (it's not remotely integral to the plot) ((but it's integral to me))
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 03:05:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7342123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansybones/pseuds/sansybones, https://archiveofourown.org/users/withtheworms/pseuds/withtheworms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Rehab Cabin DLC fic by @withtheworms</p><p>Set Post-Pacifist ending, with monsters now living with humans on the surface.  Sans' inability to adjust to a life without Resets has lead to both he and Papyrus leaving the city and taking up residence in a secluded cabin in the woods (at least until Sans can recover and get better).</p><p>On a Wednesday morning Papyrus attempts to get Sans to go through his daily routine of remembering and writing down what happened the day before.  It's a struggle every step of the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yesterday Was Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Rehab Cabin DLC fic/au/extended headcanon by myself and SansyBones. In a nutshell: Resets messed Sans up beyond repair and he has no concept of chronological time. Papyrus tries to help him but it's hard and every day presents a new set of struggles. It's sad! Anyway, there's (lots) more here: http://rehabcabin.tumblr.com/

It was a beautiful day outside.

From the front porch, looking out across the small patch of evenly mowed lawn that eventually gave way to the untamed forest of trees that surrounded the cabin on all sides, Papyrus could just make out the glimmer of sunlight reflecting on the surface of the pond.  It would be a good day for swimming, or a bike ride, or just sitting outside somewhere enjoying the sight and the smell and the sound and the _feel_ of it.

He had never wanted to scream more in his life.

He’d come outside, ostensibly, to investigate a sound– the rustling and clatter of some small animal (probably a squirrel) scrabbling around in the gutters– but the rawness of his nerves and the slight tremor in his hands betrayed his being on the patio as a last-ditch, desperate attempt to escape the indoors and stop himself from saying things he _knew_ he’d immediately regret.

From the shallow pockets of his pants he fished out his phone, thumbing open the messenger app and tapping on the icon of Mettaton’s face. _  
_

> _HES SO FRUSTRATING._

The screen remained still for a split second before the “…” signalling a response being written popped up.

>   _Are you two fighting?_
> 
> _NO.  I LEFT BEFORE I GOT MAD.  IM OUTSIDE._
> 
> _Take a deep breath.  It’s okay, I’m here.  What were you doing?_

> _HIS DAILY ROUTINE.  HE SAYS ITS STUPID AND POINTLESS.  HES NOT EVEN TRYING.  
>  _

> _Does he know he’s upsetting you?_

Papyrus tapped a fingertip against the side of his phone for a moment as he considered his answer.

> _I DONT THINK SO._

> _Darling, he’s your brother and you love him, but you don’t need to protect him like that.  I wish you would tell him how upset he makes you._

> _HE DOESNT NEED TO KNOW.  IT DOESNT HELP.  IT DOESNT MAKE IT EASIER._

> _It might not make it easier for him, but it will make it easier for you._

> _:/_

> _Take three minutes to breathe.  It’ll be okay._

The “…” remained onscreen for another moment, then resolved into a long string of affectionate emojis, which made Papyrus smile despite himself.  He responded with his own indecipherable (except to Mettaton) string of pictographs, then tucked his phone away.  

There was a nest of birds in one of the trees nearest to the cabin.  He could hear them chirping, and for a moment he tried to focus only on their sound, squinting to see if he could pick out their twiggy home from among the criss-cross of branches.

Three minutes to breathe.  He just need three.  Three wasn’t a lot to ask.

He took a deep breath, counted down from sixty exactly three times, then turned and went back inside.

The inside of the cabin was all the things a cabin was supposed to be: cozy, well-worn, lived-in, picturesque.  The same sunlight that was making things look directly taken from a wish-you-were-here postcard outside made everything look golden-lit and rustically cheerful inside.  

The only dark spot was Sans.

He was wearing his winter jacket (he didn’t need to be), the collar pulled up over his neck, making him look like he was being swallowed up by the flannel.  The wool tuque he wore had been pulled down so it nearly obscured his eye sockets.  He was hunched over, one knee pulled up against his chest, his right hand cradling the side of his head and his left holding a pen so tightly that even from across the room Papyrus could see it shaking.

The notebook sitting open on the table in front of him was a mess of scratched out words, the writing small at the top of the page, but getting increasingly larger and messier as it descended.  

_Yesterday was: ~~Tuesday~~_

_~~Monday~~ _

_~~Tuesday~~ _

_~~Wednesday~~ _

_~~Monday~~ _

_~~Tuesday~~ _

_~~Friday???~~ _

_~~Tuesday~~ _

_~~Wednesday~~ _

_~~Friday~~ _

By the bottom third of the page things were simply a mess of scribbled, crossed out, angry lines.

Papyrus braced himself, steeling his nerves and adopting an enthusiastic smile as he sat down at the table opposite his brother.

“It was a squirrel in the gutter, I think,” he explained, knowing full-well Sans had not even noticed he’d left.  Had no clue how agitated Papyrus had been with him before he’d made a break and stepped outside.  “Making a _racket_ , I might add.  But no worries, brother, I sent it on its way.”

Sans said nothing, his attention remaining glued to the page in front of him.  

Papyrus’ smile faltered.

“How is it going?” he attempted, knowing the question was potentially disastrous.

“Great,” Sans replied brusquely, his voice tense but even. “Having a _great_ time.”

Papyrus knew that tone.  It was a tone that meant Sans was one breath away from an outburst; frustration and an angry excuse and refusal to participate before a petulant misuse of teleporting magic would derail anything else they’d had planned for the day.  

He wasn’t about to bow to a tantrum, however.  The daily routine was important.  It was integral.  It was all they had. 

Papyrus braced himself. “Did you write down what day it was yesterday?”

Sans’ fingertips dug into the side of his skull and he aggressively fidgeted with his pen.

“Thursday,” he said, finally. “Yesterday was Thursday.”

Papyrus struggled to hold back a sigh, reaching across the table and gently prying the pen from Sans’ hand before he snapped it in half.

“Yesterday was Tuesday,” he said quietly, patiently. “Remember? We hung up the hammock.”

Sans was silent.  Anyone else would’ve assumed that he was ignoring them, but Papyrus knew from the expression on his face that he was trying his best to remember, pawing desperately through a mass of unsorted memories without a clear chronology to orient them.

“We didn’t tie the knots tight enough,” Papyrus continued, knowing sometimes it took some elaborating before Sans could find the memory’s thread. “I lay down and the hammock collapsed on the ground.  You  laughed so hard you got hiccups and said you pulled something.”

“It was funny.”

Papyrus couldn’t help himself. “It wasn’t _that_ funny.”

Sans kept his eyes fixed on the notebook in front of him.

“I can’t… I don’t know for sure if that happened yesterday,” he said at last. “I _think_ I remember it, but…” he closed his eyes, burying his face in the boney palms of his hands.

“Yesterday was Tuesday,” Papyrus said, reaching across the table and resting his hands on Sans’ tight knuckles. “We hung up the hammock.”

“Yesterday was Tuesday,” Sans repeated, voice muffled. “We hung up the hammock.”

“What day was it?” Papyrus prompted.  The repetition was integral to the process, running it over and over again helped anchor it, building it as familiar, stable, and real.  

“Tuesday.”

“What did we do?”

“We hung up the hammock.”

“Because?”

“It was Tuesday.”

“And?”

“It happened yesterday.”

Sans lowered his hands, looking across the table at Papyrus, who was smiling encouragingly.

Without a word the taller skeleton handed him back his pen, and, turning to a fresh page of his notebook Sans wrote in small, even letters:

_Yesterday was Tuesday._


End file.
